


When a Dark Mark Isn't a Dark Mark

by crochetaway



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-22 21:56:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14317986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crochetaway/pseuds/crochetaway
Summary: Hermione Granger is summoned to Azkaban by Rabastan Lestrange. When she learns he's been imprisoned illegally, she'll do everything she can to free him. Will she be able to deal with the consequences of what his freedom will do? Even at her own cost?





	1. Life Debts

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N: This was originally written for Hermione's Haven roll-a-prompt. My prompt was Hermione/Rabasatan and life debts. I've since expanded on it and it will be 9 chapters in total. This is a short story, chapters won't be very long, but my hope is that I'll have the first four chapters up today and the last five up in the next week or so.**
> 
> **The lovely and talented AlexandraO beta'd this work for me! She's an amazing writer in her own, so go check out her works!**
> 
> **Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff! And reviews are life, so if you like this, let me know!**

"A what?!" Hermione Granger spat at him coldly from the other side of the visitor's table. Rabastan grimaced and shrugged his shoulders, trying to get comfortable on the hard metal chair. But with his hands shackled in front of him, it was hard to forget exactly where he was. Azkaban Prison, the place he'd spent over half of his life by this point.

The Second Wizarding War was over and won, five years ago now. Harry Potter had finally defeated Lord Voldemort for good, and Rabastan was back where he belonged. His home. He sneered at the thought. What he wouldn't give for his real home: Lestrange Park. If it still existed and hadn't been sold off that is.

"A life debt, Miss Granger," he explained once more as he eyed her from the other side of the table. He shifted his head a bit so that his raggedy hair hung in his eyes. Giving him more cover to look the woman over. She was dressed neatly in business robes, and her famous, wild-hair was tied back in some sort of updo.

"You owe me a life debt? How in the world would that have come about Mr Lestrange?" She frowned at him and crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back in her chair. Rabastan looked down at his shackled hands before answering.

"Probably when you stunned Antonin Dolohov before his killing curse could be unleashed at me in the Department of Mysteries several years ago," Rabastan snapped, suddenly pissed off at her and everything she'd come to represent. "Or maybe when you escaped from Malfoy Manor so dramatically, that my lovely sister-in-law and Master forgot about me for a few days."

Granger pursed her lips and shifted in her chair, her brow furrowed. She looked deep in thought. Rabastan breathed heavily through his nose, willing himself to calm down. Getting riled up would do nothing for his cause, except maybe anger her to the point of not returning. He almost didn't know whether he wanted her to absolve him or let him die instead.

He boldly met her gaze and said, "Or, how about during the final battle when you pulled me from the rubble of that wall collapsing."

Granger went white, her face draining of colour, and whispered, "You remember that?"

"I do," Rabastan confirmed. He shivered, whether from the cold or the emotions swirling about in the room he didn't know. It did have the effect of tossing more hair over his eyes though; he looked at her through it. She was looking just past his left shoulder, biting her lip. A random thought crossed Rabastan's mind of what that lip would taste like, and then she was speaking again.

"So three life debts then." She uncrossed her arms and laid them on the table, leaning toward him.

"At least," Rabastan answered.

"Fuck," she whispered, dropping her head slightly. "Why did Dolohov want to kill you?" She pierced him with her gaze, and he found he couldn't look away from her whisky-coloured eyes.

"Things aren't always what they seem," Rabastan said cryptically and forced himself to turn away from her.

"Let me see your arm," she demanded.

"What?" Rabastan looked at her. Why in the world would she want to see his arm?

"Give it over, your left one." She held out her hand, clearly expecting him just to let her examine his Dark Mark. He tsked at her and leaned as far back in his chair as he could go, he wasn't going to give some chit of a girl a free glance at his most private shame.

"No. What are you going to do?" he asked suspiciously. He would have backed away from the table entirely, but his feet were conveniently shackled to a ring in the floor.

"I'm going to look at it," she said slowly as if she were speaking to a child.

"Why?" Rabastan glared at her.

Granger sighed and rolled her eyes at him. "Draco Malfoy's Dark Mark never set properly. It reddened and swirled angrily on his arm like his body was trying to reject it. After the Dark Lord fell, I noticed that his Dark Mark looked different than the rest of the Death Eaters. It's what got him off, actually," she informed him. "I want to look at yours." She nodded to his arms, still in his lap.

Comprehension dawned, and Rabastan felt a lightening in his chest that he hadn't had cause to feel in at least twenty years. He reached out both arms since they were cuffed together, across the table toward her, turning them, so his hands were palm up.

Tentatively, she pushed the sleeve of his grey prison uniform up his left arm. Her fingers were warm against his skin as she slowly revealed his greatest shame. When she had been describing the Malfoy boy's Dark Mark, she could have been describing his own. He never wanted to be marked. He never wanted to follow the Dark Lord, but he'd been dragged to it by his brother and his father.

"Woah," she breathed as she took in his almost white Dark Mark, it had finally ceased moving in the Dark Lord's death and now just looked like a pale scar on his arm. Although it still had the perfect outline of the skull and snake that made up the Dark Mark.

"It looks just like Draco's." She trailed a finger across it, and Rabastan shivered, despite the warmth of her skin against his. He wanted to ask what a Dark Mark looked like on someone who wasn't him or Draco. Maybe Dolohov's? Or his brother, if Rodolphus was still alive, but he didn't. That felt like too much of a vulnerability to show before this woman. She seemed as hard as steel, and he was afraid that if he got to close, she'd cut him to shreds.

Rabastan pursed his lips and pulled his arms from the table and her warm fingertips. "So you've seen it. Now what?"

"You tell me? You summoned me here," she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest once more.

"I summoned you because I can't leave. And I can feel the life debts pressing down on my soul. They want to be paid. Absolved."

"Are there any traditional ways a pureblood would absolve a life debt?"

"Property or marriage. Sometimes both," Rabastan shrugged.

"What if I got you out of Azkaban? Would you owe me another life debt?"

Rabastan grimaced, "Probably."  _Definitely_ , he thought.

"Might as well add it to the list. You can't stay here with a Dark Mark like that. I can't believe they put you in here the after the war to begin with. Did nobody even look at your Mark?"

Rabastan shook his head.

"Bloody idiots," she muttered, running a hand through her perfectly coiffed hair before she seemed to realise it was up and patted it instead.

Rabastan quirked an eyebrow at her, hoping she'd explain herself.

"It proves that not only were you an unwilling participant in everything that took place but that your  _soul_  is too light to have accepted the darkness of the Mark. We proved it with Draco. We'll prove it with you too."

Rabastan's breath caught in his throat at her words.

"Will I have to testify?" He did his best every day to forget about the horrors he'd experienced during both wars and did not want to relive them in front of an audience.

"Most likely," she nodded.

"Then leave me here." Rabastan shook his head. He wasn't going to lay his soul out like that for the Wizengamot to judge whether he was fit or not. He'd rather live out the rest of his life in Azkaban.

"Mr Lestrange, you've been falsely imprisoned for most of your life. Don't you want out?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

"This is what I know. I don't want to testify," Rabastan reiterated.

"Fine. I'll see what I can do." With that, she stood and walked out of the room without another word.

The weight on his soul seemed to increase, just a little bit more.


	2. Incompetent Fools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Thanks to AlexandraO for lending her beta services! Drop me a line and let me know your thoughts. Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff!**

Hermione's heels click-clacked along the marble tile in the Ministry. She strode fast and hard down these hallowed corridors, relishing the sound of her heels as they echoed around her and of the way everyone got out of her way. She was Hermione Granger, war heroine, one-third of the Golden Trio and current golden girl of the Ministry. According to her superiors and the press, she could do no wrong. She only hoped she could live up to all of their expectations. Especially with what she planned to toss onto Kingsley's desk this afternoon.

"Miss Granger, you can't—" Hermione ignored Kingsley's secretary and stormed through the door of his office to find Kingsley's arse hanging out of the fireplace as he made a Floo call. She slammed the door behind her and settled herself onto one of the armchairs facing his desk, summoning his tea service from the corner while she was at it.

She couldn't hear Kingsley's conversation, so she made herself a cup of tea and waited. He would have heard her come into the room and would wrap up quickly, she was sure. She was right; she'd barely gotten halfway through her cup of tea before Kingsley was standing up and brushing the soot off his clothes.

"Hermione!" he greeted her with enthusiasm, holding out his arms. Hermione lifted her brow, refusing to rise from her seat and embrace him as he so clearly wanted. Kingsley was a bit of a perv, and Hermione wasn't playing that game today.

"Oh," Kingsley frowned. "Something serious then?"

"Yes," Hermione replied coldly and set her teacup down on the desk before her. She didn't offer Kingsley any, having banished the tea service back to the corner where it belonged. "How many people have we falsely imprisoned since the end of the Second Wizarding Aar?"

"Where is this coming from?" Kingsley asked with a frown.

"You remember Draco Malfoy, right?" Kingsley nodded, and Hermione continued. "He was deemed innocent, not just not guilty of the crimes against him, but innocent because we'd found that his body, his  _soul_ , would not accept the Dark Mark."

"I'm aware of the circumstances of the case, Hermione."

"Then why didn't you bother to check the rest of the Death Eater's arms?! It's like the first war all over again when nobody could be bothered to pull up a fucking sleeve and look at an arm with their own two eyes!"

"What are you talking about?" Kingsley asked.

"Rabastan Lestrange. His arm looks identical to Draco Malfoy's. And he was marked during the first wizarding war. Bad enough that nobody checked it before his first stint in Azkaban. But now he's back again. Unlawfully!"

"Well, he did break out of Azkaban," Kingsley said reasonably.

"He was being held unlawfully! His Dark Mark proves it. So, I'll be getting him a new trial. The question for you is how many others?"

"I'm not sure if I know the answer to that," Kingsley hedged.

"Because you didn't look at anyone's bloody arms did you?"

Kingsley didn't respond but did have the grace to look ashamed.

"Unbelievable. The lot of you."

Hermione rose from her chair and with one last scathing look at Kingsley, stormed out of his office and down to her own in Magical Law Enforcement. She slammed her shared office door open and grumbled under her breath as she sat in her chair, already working on the appeal needed to bring Lestrange's case back to court.

"Something the matter?" her office-mate, Draco Malfoy asked.

"Yes, the Ministry is filled with incompetent fools," Hermione hissed as she drew a fresh piece of parchment forward and began making a list of everything she would need to get the new trial started.

"You sound like Snape," Draco commented lightly.

"Do you know that after you got off, your trial was one of the first, mind, nobody even thought to check any other Death Eater's arms to see if their Marks looked like yours?"

Draco rubbed his arm where the faded, white, Dark Mark sat and frowned, "I didn't."

"Right, incompetent the lot of them," Hermione snarled and turned back to her parchment.

Technically, since she worked for the Ministry as a prosecutor, she couldn't retry Lestrange's case. She'd have to find a barrister to represent Lestrange, preferably not the one he used the first time around since whoever it was clearly didn't bother with much a defence. One of the first things she would have to do is find Lestrange's case file, both of them, to identify specifically what he was in prison for beyond 'Death Eater Activities'. She was in for some long nights ahead, but if it meant an innocent person leaving prison, she was happy to do it.

* * *

It was a long week for Hermione as she searched for a barrister willing to take on Lestrange's case. His original barrister had died, and he hadn't had one for his second trial. In fact, he hadn't had much of a second trial at all because he pled guilty. Which meant that he could only appeal on the grounds of his first trial and false imprisonment then. It would make the case more difficult, but if she could find a co-defendant or two, who also had failed Dark Marks, it might make it easier.

"Tell me again, why a prosecutor from the Ministry is looking for a defence attorney?" Alistair Shafiq, the latest barrister Hermione was interviewing, asked.

Hermione raised her eyebrow and leaned back in the chair she was settled in, crossing her legs.

"As I told your secretary, Mr Shafiq, I am here on behalf of a man falsely imprisoned in Azkaban. I am looking for a barrister who would be willing to take on his case. I do not want to give too many details before an agreement is procured, as I am sure you understand. You would not be working for or with me, but rather the man in prison."

"And you are what? His girlfriend?"

"Let's go with agent, shall we?"

"Fine then. You're an attorney, how likely am I to win this case if I take it on."

"You'll win. It's already been proven, but the Ministry won't release him on his own recognisance due to his plea from his most recent trial."

"Most recent trial? Is it a Death Eater?"

"I cannot divulge that information," Hermione reiterated coldly. "Take the case, Mr Shafiq; I promise you that you will win. And I'll help you as much as I'm able. Obviously, I won't be the prosecutor on the case, I'll have myself recused, but I know the ins and outs better than anyone."

"And who will be paying my fee?"

"I will," Hermione lifted her chin to look down at the other man. She hoped he was going to do it, she'd been to see four others, and they all turned her down, insisting on meeting the client before taking the case. Hermione couldn't allow this to leak to the press until the appeal was filed. She didn't want Lestrange to be convicted in the press before the court was able to hear the case.

"Fine, I'll take the case, Miss Granger." Shafiq nodded at her and began passing her parchment work for her to sign.

Hermione took a moment to review the contract and shook her head. "No, I can't allow you to accept a flat fee for this. Do it on a retainer, please. And I'll need you to sign a non-disclosure agreement." She tapped her bag with her wand and her standard non-disclosure agreement flew out and onto the desk before her. She pushed it toward Shafiq as she continued reviewing the rest of his contract.

"A retainer will be quite expensive," Shafiq said.

Hermione looked up at him, "I'm aware. However, as easy as this case may be, I'd feel better if I paid you on a retainer now. In case something goes wrong and it takes longer than expected."

Shafiq frowned for a moment, tapped his chin with his finger. "Alright." He took the parchment from her and handed her a different scroll. Then signed her non-disclosure agreement which glowed blue for a moment and disappeared.

"Gringotts?" Shafiq guessed.

"No, my personal safe at my home," Hermione answered distractedly as she reviewed the new contract.

"Why not Gringotts?"

Grinning, Hermione looked up, "How long have you been in wizarding Britain Mr Shafiq?"

"My family is Sacred Twenty-Eight," he shrugged.

"Then you'll know that I broke out of Gringotts on the back of a dragon a number of years ago. I was never a vault holder there, and they have since banned me for life," her grin turned wicked. "Their loss."

"So where do you keep your money?"

Hermione laughed, "And be conveniently robbed? No, I shan't be telling you that. However, the goblins will still allow me to do business with them, exchange wizarding for Muggle and the like, I'm just banned from holding a vault or ever going down to anyone else's vaults."

"And what of your compatriots, Weasley and Potter? Are they also banned?"

Hermione shook her head, "Both had vaults — therefore in order to not lose business, Gringotts just fined them. I was fined and banned."

"That's outrageous!"

Hermione grinned, "Perhaps. However, as a Muggleborn thus is my lot in life. I was able to get them to agree that any heirs I might bear would be allowed to hold a vault. All is not lost."

"You successfully negotiated with the goblins?"

"It was my test case for becoming a full-blown barrister. I passed." She looked back at the contract and read it over one final time. "This looks good." Signing it with a flourish, it too disappeared after briefly glowing blue.

"Well, in that case, it's time for me to meet my client."

"Yes, you should meet him, but not quite yet. First, you need to know who it is and why this case is such a slam dunk."

"Slam dunk? I'm not familiar with the terminology."

"Right, well, muggle words. It means why this case is so winnable."

"By all means, Miss Granger," Shafiq settled back in his chair as Hermione began her tale. First discussing Draco's case and then moving on to who her client was and why she was sure he could be released.


	3. Beginning the Appeal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Thanks to AlexandraO for lending her beta services! Drop me a line and let me know your thoughts. Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff!**

Three weeks after Rabastan's initial meeting with Granger, he began hearing rumours that she was visiting Azkaban. He squashed the hope that wanted to flutter in his chest. He had been here a long time and would continue to be here, despite anything Granger said or did. Rabastan just didn't believe that a Muggleborn would be able to navigate the Ministry effectively enough to get him another trial. Especially, since he'd pled guilty in his last one.

At the time, that had seemed like the right decision. He didn't have a barrister to represent him, and instead of trying to find one or to rely on a Ministry-appointed one, he just pled guilty. He knew what the outcome was going to be regardless of the time spent finding a barrister. He was going back to Azkaban whether he deserved it or not. And after his first stint in Azkaban, he'd started to feel like he'd deserved it.

"What did she do?" he muttered through his cell at Yaxley next door.

"Just looked at my arm," Yaxley replied.

"Which arm?"

"Which do you think, you blockhead?"

"And?"

"It was strange; she didn't say a fucking word. Just grabbed my arm, pulled my sleeve and looked at  _it_. Then waved her hand and the Auror standing guard took me away."

Rabastan didn't answer. Was she looking for other people like him? Death Eater's whose Dark Marks were never fully accepted by their bodies? He knew she wouldn't find any. He'd been the only one he knew of that had a Dark Mark like his. Did that mean she wasn't going to get him out of Azkaban? He felt both light and heavy at that thought. He had begun to hope. That terrible, wonderful feeling that was hope. And still, his soul could feel the fourth life debt piling on. He hadn't been entirely truthful with Granger. Property alone wasn't going to be enough to absolve the life debt. Frankly, he didn't have enough property, but even if he did, he didn't think giving her more than one piece of it would absolve multiple debts. More likely he would have to provide her with heirs.

He shuddered at that thought, it's not that he didn't want to be out of Azkaban, but heirs? He was the younger brother; it was never his priority to have heirs and carry on the Lestrange name. But now, it seemed it was. Fate had handed him a beautiful woman, to which he owed his life three times and soon to be four. He could feel his heart pine for her already. She'd been to the prison many times and hadn't once asked to see him.

The following day he ran into Rowle in the shower room.

"Did Granger come to see you too?" Rowle asked as the showers all turned on simultaneously.

"No," Rabastan answered. "What'd she want?"

"Just looked at my fucking Mark. It was strange. She looked pissed."

"Huh," Rabastan grunted.

Had she looked at everyone else's arms already? Was she pissed because she hadn't found any like his? Why? He guessed it would make her case stronger if there were more people who had mark's like his, or would it prove her theory wrong? Rabastan shook his head there were too many questions and not near enough answers.

* * *

Almost six weeks to the day since Rabastan had first summoned Granger to Azkaban, did she return actually to speak with him. He was brought to the visitor's room and shackled to the floor. His wait wasn't long before Granger appeared, dressed gorgeously in a set of midnight blue robes. The sheath dress underneath clung to every curve she had and Rabastan felt his heart lurch at the sight of her. It seemed fate was working overtime.

She wasn't alone though, a tidy black man with short-cropped almost white hair, who stood not much taller than Granger entered with her. Rabastan thought he looked vaguely familiar, but couldn't place him.

"Lestrange," Granger nodded tightly. "This is Alistair Shafiq; he's agreed to represent you in your appeal."

"Represent me?" Rabastan asked with a raised brow.

"Yes, I've hired him on your behalf," Granger pulled out the chair across from Rabastan and sat delicately. Shafiq sat in the chair next to her.

"May I see your Dark Mark, Mr Lestrange?" Shafiq asked.

Rabastan glanced at Granger first, and when she nodded, he raised his hands from his lap and put them on the table. They were cuffed at the wrist again. Granger pushed his sleeve up for him, and Rabastan struggled to hold in a gasp when her skin traced along his. It set his nerve endings on fire, and he snapped his eyes to her face to see if she felt it too, but if she did, she was giving nothing away.

"Oh," Shafiq commented. "It does look exactly like Draco Malfoy's."

"And like no other Death Eaters," Granger replied.

"Quite right," Shafiq muttered and traced his hand over the almost invisible Mark. Lestrange felt nothing but a slight chill from the coldness of Shafiq's finger. It confirmed his suspicions that it was just Granger he was reacting to, and that the life debts weren't going to leave him alone until he'd provided her heirs. The thought of heirs that had so scared him a few weeks ago now seemed to excite him. These inconvenient feelings regarding Granger were really getting to be not good.

"I won't testify," Rabastan said suddenly. They had been sitting in silence, and he couldn't bear it anymore.

"Please see reason, Lestrange. If you testify—"

"I'd rather stay here," Rabastan interrupted Granger.

"Lestrange!" Granger groaned. "Even Malfoy testified, really, it'll be fine."

"I would rather die than open myself up to questions about my past."

"Merlin, you're a right difficult bastard," Granger complained.

Rabastan didn't care what she thought of him. Well, that wasn't quite true if he was being totally honest with himself, but nothing she said would get him to testify.

"Things will really go better if you would consent to testify," Shafiq interrupted. He saw the look on Rabastan's face and went on, "but if you won't, I do think I have a solid case for the appeal based on Draco Malfoy's case."

"Then do it," Lestrange nodded.

"You'll agree to file the appeal?" Granger asked. "You pled guilty in your last case, so we have to file an appeal in your original case. And claim false imprisonment."

"Do you know why I was originally tried as a Death Eater?" Rabastan asked her, pinning her with a hard stare. She met it and lifted her chin defiantly.

"Of course I do. I've read both trial transcripts and case files," Granger replied. "You were tried for the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom, the parents of my very dear friend Neville. You were caught with your brother, Rodolphus, your sister-in-law, Bellatrix, and Barty Crouch, Jr. All four of you were convicted and sentenced to life in Azkaban.

"Then in January of 1996, you and several other Death Eaters broke out of Azkaban when the Dementors sided with Voldemort. You were essentially on the run from then until your capture after the Battle of Hogwarts in 1998.

"So, yes, Lestrange, I know all about your life. And I still believe that with a Mark like that on your arm, you deserve to be free. Tell me, did you actually participate in the torture of the Longbottoms? Or were you just a bystander?"

"I won't testify," Rabastan reiterated. She wasn't going to get him to spill his guts to her like an ickle firstie. He hadn't thought of that night in years it was a deliberate move to try and forget it entirely. He would have gone mad in Azkaban the first time around if he thought about that night and the injustice of what happened to him afterward. It was much easier for him and better mentally, to bury it and accept his life as it was.

Granger groaned and rolled her eyes at him, "You're bloody impossible."

Rabastan smirked at her.

Shafiq watched the byplay with an interested eye. "Well, if we're finished here, I must go prepare the appeal."

"I won't—"

"Testify, yes, I know Mr Lestrange. Miss Granger may be paying my salary, but you are my client. I won't make you testify."

Rabastan nodded as the other man stood from the table and left the room. Granger stayed. He wondered what she wanted.

"Alistair doesn't know about the life debt."

"Debts," Rabastan corrected her.

"Right, well he doesn't know. I'd like to keep it that way."

"Why are you paying the fee? Can't you take it out of my estate or something?"

"It's not much, and I'd rather pay for it on my own then mess with the courts on trying to get access to your estate. Why would you rather stay here than testify?"

Rabastan didn't want to answer that question, so he asked one of his own, "What happened to Lestrange Park?"

"What do you mean?"

"Has it been sold? Does someone else own it now?"

Granger looked thoughtful for a moment, and Rabastan worried that she knew something and wasn't telling him. He hoped that wasn't the case. There was already so much he felt like she was keeping from him.

"To be honest, I hadn't given it much thought. But I'll look into it. I think most Death Eater properties either went into a trust or to next living kin."

"I'm the last of the Lestranges," Rabastan said. Both his father's family and his mother's had all died out in the First Wizarding War. Rodolphus and Bellatrix had both died in the Second Wizarding War. Rabastan was truly alone in this world. That thought had never seemed to heartbreaking as it did then. His heart felt heavy and he struggled to take in a breath.

"I know," Granger frowned. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Rabastan gasped. He didn't want to leave Azkaban if he couldn't go to Lestrange Park. Not only was it the only other home he'd ever known, but if he was to absolve the life debts to Granger he needed Lestrange Park to absolve at least one. Then he would only owe her a marriage and two heirs. Not three.

"Right. Well, I'll find out what happened to Lestrange Park. I'll be in touch regarding your appeal details as well." Granger rose from her chair and nodded to him before sweeping out of the room and leaving Rabastan alone once more.


	4. Conundrums

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Thanks to AlexandraO for lending her beta services! Drop me a line and let me know your thoughts. Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff!**

Rubbing her forehead, Hermione leaned back in her office chair. As much as she loved research, she hated trying to research something that not much had ever been written on.

"Alright, Granger?" Draco asked from his desk, not looking up from the parchment he was writing on.

"I don't bloody know. What do you know about life debts?"

"Who do you owe a life debt to?" Draco asked.

"This isn't an information exchange, Malfoy," Hermione bit out.

"Woah, calm your tits, Granger. It's just, there isn't much written about life debts, because it's a pure-blood thing. So… if you owe a life debt to someone. They gotta be a pure-blood."

"I don't owe any life…" Hermione trailed off. That probably wasn't right, "well, not that I know of. Someone owes  _me_  a life debt." She wasn't going to tell Draco who or what or why even. She liked Draco, but he was a horrid gossip, and she didn't want to influence Lestrange's retrial in any way.

"Oh? Well, what are you taking to absolve it?"

"What are my options?" Hermione asked. Conversations with Draco were frequently like this; he didn't like to give out information freely.

"Property, marriage, heirs."

Hermione waited for him to go on. "Wait, that's it?" she asked when he didn't.

"Yep," Draco said popping the 'p'.

"Fuck."

"Yep."

Hermione groaned and rubbed her eyes.

"You want a book on it?" Draco asked.

"Do you have one that is actually on life debts and just doesn't mention them peripherally like the drivel in the Ministry Library?"

"'Course I do. I'm a pure-blood, aren't I?" Draco smirked at her.

"Fine, yes, I'd like a book if you have one, Malfoy,"

"Tell me who," Draco demanded, still smirking at her.

"No."

"Then no book," Draco shrugged as if it didn't bother him.

"For fuck's sake, Draco. You'll find out soon enough anyway, won't you?"

"Oh, alright, if it'll get you to stop sighing all over the bloody office," Draco grumbled.

"Thank you," Hermione said sincerely. She hoped whatever Draco had was better than what she was reading now. It was essentially a log of absolved life debts, and it was all marriages and property exchanges and a few mentions of an heir. That was it. It was interesting, but not very informative.

* * *

"Lestrange," Hermione nodded to the man already seated and shackled in the visitor's room at Azkaban. His trial was set to begin in six weeks, and Hermione had spent most of her free time helping Alistair with Lestrange's defense and researching everything she could on life debts.

Lestrange nodded back but didn't say anything. He quickly let his eyes slide off her and settle on the table between them. Hermione sat in the chair across from the man and cocked her head to the side, trying to figure him out.

"What happens if we don't absolve the life debts?" Hermione asked. She was pretty sure she knew already, but she wanted to hear what he had to say.

"I'll live in extreme pain and torment until I die an early, miserable death." Lestrange didn't look up from the table, and his voice was monotone. He seemed, depressed. Which was odd, Hermione hadn't given much thought to his mental state since being imprisoned here.

"Would you prefer that?" Hermione asked.

Lestrange shrugged and didn't answer.

Hermione sighed in frustration. How was she supposed to get anything out the man when he wasn't even responding to her? She wondered if he would respond better to force or to honey. She suspected force was the route to go.

"Hey!" she shouted and slammed her hand on the table heavily. She pursed her lips as he jolted up from his reverie and looked at her. "If you're suicidal why am I wasting my time and money getting you out of this dump?"

"What happens when I leave? If you don't let me pay back the life debts, I'll die anyway so why bother?"

He looked like he was about to cry and Hermione felt her heart melt, just a little at the conundrum he found himself in. He clearly didn't think she would let him absolve the life debts. She almost rolled her eyes at the man, like she would just let him die when it was in her power to save him.

"I never said I wouldn't let you pay back the life debts, Lestrange," Hermione began. When he looked like he was going to interrupt, she held up her hand. "I'm well aware of what constitutes 'repayment' of a life debt according to your backward, out-of-touch, patriarchal, pure-blood standards. I may not like it, but I wouldn't just let you  _die_. I'm not that much of a bitch."

Lestrange almost seemed to wilt in front of her. He let out a huge breath and sank further into his seat. His forehead hit the table in front of him. He was muttering something under his breath that she couldn't quite make out.

"Er, Lestrange?" Hermione asked, trying to get his attention. She knew what was required of the life debts, but that didn't mean she wanted to tie herself to someone who was displaying signs of a mental illness.

When he looked up at her, there were tears standing out in his bright blue eyes.

"Truly?" Lestrange asked.

Hermione nodded, not quite sure about what she was agreeing to.

"Did you find anything out about Lestrange Park?" he asked, suddenly changing the subject.

"I did, it's in probate court at the moment. Currently, the case regarding both Lestrange Park and the Lestrange family vaults in Gringotts is pending research into the next of kin," she pulled a file from her briefcase and placed it on the table in front of her, opening it up to remind herself of the details. Then she spun it around for Lestrange to read.

"There isn't any next of kin," Lestrange muttered.

"Well, actually there is some debate on that. Draco would be next of kin to Bellatrix, shockingly enough, so he could stand to inherit it all. Or Harry, through Sirius, because the Lestranges are distant cousins of the Blacks. But then there's actually talk that well, I'm not sure you know what happened when we were captured and brought to Malfoy Manor?"

Lestrange shook his head, a look of confusion on his face.

Hermione took a deep breath, "Right, well the short of it was that I was tortured. By Bellatrix. So there's some on the probate court who would want all Lestrange properties granted to me as part of some sort of reparation for the war crimes." Hermione shrugged and looked away, embarrassed by the topic. She didn't want any of the Lestrange properties, especially since she knew they were going to get Lestrange out of Azkaban.

"Tortured?" Lestrange asked.

"Cruciatus mostly, but she also used her cursed knife on me too. Among other things," she muttered the last quietly. Hermione lifted her left arm onto the table, showing him the ugly scar on her arm that read 'mudblood'. He flinched when he saw it. Hermione removed the diamond stud earrings she always wore, with it, the glamour she had charmed them with also disappeared and the knife and bite marks from Bellatrix's torture appeared on her neck and the parts of her chest that her robes had shown off.

She wore the earrings because she knew how disconcerting it was to walk around looking as though she had love bites all over her neck. She almost never took them off, except to re-apply the glamouring charm on them each month. Her scars disgusted even her and she couldn't imagine anyone she dated ever wanting to see them. Hence her brilliant creation of the earrings. Not that she was going to be dating anyone anytime soon, she thought glumly, realising that if she went through with his, Lestrange would be tied to her in ways that she would never be able to free herself from.

The 'mudblood' scar on her arm was harder to hide, and so she didn't. She wasn't ashamed of her blood status and it had already proven quite fruitful in getting Hermione what she wanted when some cretin at the Ministry was being difficult.

"Sweet Salazar," Lestrange breathed as he took in her scars. Hermione lifted her chin and pointedly did not meet his gaze as she put the earrings back in her ears.

"Yes, well, I don't want any Lestrange properties, because you are going to get out of here. The moment you are released, the case in probate court will be moot."

Lestrange nodded but didn't comment. "Can you visit Lestrange Park? Tell me whether you think it'll be enough to absolve one of the life debts."

"I don't want your home, Lestrange," Hermione frowned at him.

"You have to take something to absolve a life debt, Granger," Lestrange snarled at her suddenly. "Unless you want to be saddled with four kids?"

Hermione tightened her lips but didn't reply. She stood from her seat and grasped her briefcase, storming out of the visitation room.

She couldn't quite wrap her head around Lestrange and what his motivations were. He seemed as equally depressed and yet desperate to absolve the life debts. He wasn't wrong; she could forgo the property and marriage and just accept four children from him. But that would require sleeping with him. Hermione felt her lip curl at the thought. She couldn't imagine sleeping with someone with the intent to wind up pregnant without having some sort of lasting relationship with the person. Could she have an actual relationship with Lestrange? She wasn't sure yet, and at the moment, it didn't matter. She couldn't help him with anything if he was stuck in Azkaban.

His trial was coming up soon, and she decided she would focus on that, and then arranging a mental health check-up for Lestrange as soon as he was a free man. Before she made any decisions about having some sort of lasting relationship with the man, she needed to know exactly what she was getting herself into.


	5. Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Thanks to AlexandraO for lending her beta services! Drop me a line and let me know your thoughts. Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff!c**

Rabastan couldn't move. He wanted to, the guard had opened his cell for Rabastan to go to the showers, but he couldn't move. The weight of the life debts had been growing steadily since they'd been acknowledged and Rabastan was saving his energy. If he spent it all trying to get a shower now, he was sure he'd never be able to walk upright into a courtroom later this week.

"Get up, Lestrange," the guard insisted, coming back around to find Rabastan flat on his back on his cot.

"Can't," Rabastan muttered, counting the cracks in his ceiling for the thousandth time since he woke that morning.

"Can't or won't?" the guard asked.

"Can't."

"Fine, I'll send medical in here."

Rabastan didn't acknowledge the guard. He could barely keep his eyes open, even though he definitely wanted to. He was due to see Granger later today for final trial preparations. He should get up to shower; he was only allowed to shower a couple of times a week. But right now, he couldn't. He fell asleep.

* * *

"Merlin, Lestrange? What happened to you?"

Rabastan awoke when he heard Granger's voice. He was still lying on his cot in his cell. He opened his eyes and found the ceiling above him, but the light had shifted, indicating it was late afternoon or evening. He tried to sit up and couldn't.

"Guard!" Granger shouted. "Open the door!"

"Can't, Miss Granger," the guard said after he'd shuffled over. "He's not restrained."

"Does he look like he's getting up to you?" Granger shouted at the man. "Open the bloody door, you fucking imbecile!"

Apparently shouting worked, because Rabastan heard the key in the lock and felt the wards give away. Granger rushed to his side, and he found her huddling over him.

"Oh, Merlin, what's wrong?" she asked as she patted her hands on him, clearly checking for injury.

"Can't move," Rabastan muttered hoarsely. "... debts…"

"Fuck, I need to absolve one now?" Granger asked. Rabastan nodded slowly.

"Alright, you have to help me," she patted his cheek when his eyes had slipped closed. "Help me, Lestrange. What do I do?"

"Gotta… get your wand… accept with magic…"

"Fuck, Merlin, fuck," she muttered under her breath. "Alright. I, Hermione Jean Granger, accept Lestrange Park as absolution for a life debt owed to me by Rabastan Corvus Lestrange. I accept this on my honor and with my magic. So mote it be."

Rabastan felt the magic swirl around him, and he managed to take a deep breath. It felt as if he'd come alive again, energy zinged through his veins, and his body shuddered.

"Good Godric," Granger breathed as the magic swirled around her too. Rabastan lifted his eyes to her to see her hair blowing in an unfelt breeze as the magic settled around her.

"How do you feel?" she asked, snapping her eyes open and pinning him with her stare, she sounded breathy, and Rabastan wondered if that's what her voice sounded like when she was in bed, in the throes of passion. He found he couldn't name the emotion in her eyes, but suddenly, he didn't think she was such a cold-hearted bitch. He'd been trying to hold back a feeling of devotion, knowing it was a side-effect of the life debts, but it washed over him now, and he found he couldn't stop it. He'd follow her anywhere. Do anything for this witch and the notion both scared and thrilled him.

"Better," he said, his voice still hoarse. He was able to slowly sit up and found that she had knelt on the floor next to his cot. Surely the hard stone floor was rubbish on her knees, but she didn't complain. Their eyes met again, and Rabastan couldn't make himself look away from hers. Something passed between them, something Rabastan wasn't sure he could or wanted to name.

Granger stood abruptly, brushing off her knees, "Well, good," her voice was back to being all business and Rabastan felt a loss from the closeness they had just shared. Surely, she felt it too?

"Is that going to keep happening?" Granger asked suddenly, her voice filled with doubt and uncertainty.

"Until they are all paid," Rabastan responded with a nod, unable to meet her eyes.

"Right," her voice lost the doubt and became business-like again.

Rabastan was never moved to the visitor's room that night. Granger stayed in his cell, leaning against the wall as she went over last minute details of his trial.

* * *

The portkey to the Ministry landed, and Rabastan was pleased to see he was able to keep his feet, even while the guard had stumbled. He was still shackled, but they had allowed him to wear the clean robes that Granger had brought with her earlier in the week. Since she was a Ministry employee, she wouldn't be sitting at the defence table with him. Instead, she'd be in the gallery watching. Rabastan was nervous but hoped it wasn't showing. If he was exonerated, he would owe Granger another life debt. If he wasn't exonerated, he would still owe her two life debts and have to go back to Azkaban. If that happened, he wondered if she would just let him die. He almost hoped so. He couldn't imagine trying to impregnate her in his cell. He grimaced at the thought and took a deep breath to clear his mind.

The guard tugged him forward, and Rabastan found himself trudging down the long hallways of the Ministry. It wasn't long before he was seated in that damned chair in the middle of the courtroom. Rabastan hated that fucking chair. He was chained to it, and the bars surrounding it snapped into place. Then the Wizengamot filed in. Rabastan didn't look at them. He'd glanced around briefly when he had entered the courtroom and spotted his lawyer, Shafiq, at the defence table. He tried looking for Granger, but couldn't find her. The Wizengamot sat, and his third trial began.

"He pled guilty at the last one, why are we here?" The Chief Warlock asked after the preliminary motions had been read.

"It's been determined that his original trial, the one back in 1981, was the one he was falsely imprisoned for—"

"Objection!" the prosecutor shouted. Rabastan flinched. He hated this, and hope it would be over soon. He went back to looking at his hands and trying to block out the sounds around him. Nothing he said or did would change the outcome, and unless Granger and Shafiq had been lying to him, he wouldn't have to testify.

"Come on, Mr Lestrange," Shafiq was saying, breaking Rabastan from his reverie. "Show them your arm."

Rabastan looked up to find the Chief Warlock and several other members of the Wizengamot out of their seats and surrounding the cage he was in. He lifted his arms from his lap and awkwardly pushed the sleeve of his robe up so that the collected wizards could see his Dark Mark.

Gasps and whispers were heard as it began to filter throughout the courtroom.

"Just like the Malfoy boy!"

"It's gone! Barely there!"

Rabastan heard it all, but couldn't bring himself to raise his eyes. He didn't want to see their pity. Or scorn. Or anything else. He just wanted to be free. To go to his home. And for the first time in decades, he realized that he truly did want that, not to be left in Azkaban to die but to be free. It was enlightening. He felt the hope fill his chest as the rest of the Wizengamot filtered past the cage, each of them inspecting his proffered arm.

There was more talking once Rabastan was told he could cover his arm once more and again he tuned it all out. It didn't last long though.

"This court overturns his original and second trial and finds Rabastan Corvus Lestrange innocent of all Death Eater related activities. He is still guilty of escaping Azkaban. However, we have commuted that sentence to time served. This court is adjourned."

Rabastan could hardly believe it. He was a free man. As ecstatic as he should have felt, a wave of sorrow and despondency came over him. He would be returning to Lestrange Park, but it wasn't his anymore. Would Granger allow him to return there? He had nowhere else to go. The feeling of another life debt settled over his soul, making him uncomfortable.

Granger had said she didn't want his home, so Rabastan decided that he would go to Lestrange Park until she kicked him out of it. He looked up when the cage around him dissolved, and the chains holding him to the chair unclasped and snaked away.

"Congratulations Mr Lestrange," Shafiq said with a large grin.

Rabastan nodded at the other man but didn't say anything else.

"Here," Shafiq handed him an old quill. "It's a portkey to Lestrange Park. Hermione mentioned you would want to go directly there."

Rabastan nodded, "Thanks." He didn't have a wand to activate the portkey though.

" _Portus_ ," Shafiq muttered, and Rabastan was whisked away with a tug from behind his navel.

When he landed, he was in the entryway of Lestrange Park. It looked just as it ever had, though no house elf came out to greet him. He made it to the sitting room, just beyond the grand staircase and collapsed on a sofa there. Falling asleep to the sound of the wind around the house and rain lashing the windows.


	6. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Thanks to AlexandraO for lending her beta services! Drop me a line and let me know your thoughts. Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff!**

A week after Rabastan's trial, Hermione finally found the time to make it to Lestrange Park. She had absolved his life debt by taking it as payment, but she hadn't actually planned to move in. She could own a property without living in it, right? The press surrounding Rabastan's trial had been insane, and she wanted to give him space before he had to suffer her presence again. She was sure he was settling in, getting used to being outside of Azkaban. So when she apparated to Lestrange Park she was concerned not to see a single light in the entire house lit. It wasn't overly late, just after six in the evening, but maybe he'd gone to bed already? Or was out?

Although, she didn't think he would be out. She had been keeping tabs on the press and not once was he caught out in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. She assumed it was possible he was either in the Muggle world or at a friends house. Did he even have any friends that weren't also locked up in Azkaban? Hermione didn't know. There was so much about this man that she was about to tie her life to that she didn't know. She had meant to have a mind-healer come by and check on him, and she hadn't had a chance to arrange that. Maybe she would get to it this week.

Opening the front door, Hermione called out for Lestrange but didn't hear anything. She knew that the property usually had house elves, but they had been freed while the property sat in probate court. It was a rather large house, too much for one person to take care of, even with magic. Maybe she should see if she could hire a house elf or two? She wandered through the first few rooms, lighting lights as she went and occasionally calling out for Lestrange. He was nowhere to be found on the ground floor, so she made her way back to the entrance hall and up the grand staircase to the first floor. It split at the top of the staircase, and a hallway ran down the length of the house. Hermione took the one on the left first and opened door after door to find empty bedrooms, sitting rooms, studies, and no Lestrange. Maybe he really was out?

When she made it to the right side, the second door she opened was a sitting room, and Lestrange was face down on the floor.

"Lestrange?!" Hermione rushed to his side and rolled him over onto his back. He was breathing, but it was troubled, and he looked like he was in pain, if the way his face was contorting was anything to go by.

"Lestrange!" Hermione shook him, but the man didn't wake.

"Shit, fuck, shit," Hermione muttered and grabbed Lestrange's arm. It was awkward to apparate without standing, but she managed, landing directly in front of St Mungo's. She levitated Lestrange in front of her and rushed inside the hospital.

"I need a healer!" Hermione shouted as soon as she made it inside.

The welcome witch rushed from behind her desk, peppering Hermione with questions.

"I don't know!" Hermione said. "I just found him like this, he's obviously struggling to breathe and looks to be in pain."

A dark-blond healer rushed over and began running some diagnostics, all while Hermione still had Lestrange levitated in the air. It was beginning to cause her some strain. Lestrange wasn't a small man, despite having spent many years in Azkaban.

"Oh, Merlin, I'm so sorry." The welcome witch flicked her wand and a gurney came flying toward them. Hermione gratefully set Lestrange onto the bed. Soon the healers were wheeling him away, and the welcome witch showed Hermione to the nearest tearoom to wait.

An interminable amount of time later, the same dark-blond healer entered the tearoom searching her out.

"Miss Granger?"

"Yes, how's Mr Lestrange?"

"Let's take a walk," the tearoom had a few other people in it, and at the mention of Hermione's last name, they'd looked up with interest. The war was long over, but Hermione Granger was still quite famous. Even if she did her best to keep her face out of the papers. She followed the healer out of the tearoom, and he led her down a bright hallway. They stopped in front of the door, and the healer opens it, showing Lestrange lying in a bed.

"Is he alright?" Hermione asked in a whisper.

"He'll live, once the life debts are absolved," the healer confirms.

Hermione looked at him sharply, how would he know about the life debts?

"He's displaying the classic symptoms of someone suffering under the weight of too many life debts," the healer shook his head. "Silly pure-blood tradition really, especially when we're a society who's just had two wars. He's not the only one we've seen, but his does seem most severe. Do you know who he owes them too? We should find that person as quickly as we can."

Hermione nodded, "I'll take care of it. Will he wake?"

"Yes, we've just put him in a light sleep, for now, to give his body time to rest."

The healer smiled at her briefly before leaving the room entirely. Hermione walked closer to the bed. Lestrange looked at peace lying on the bed, although he still seemed far too pale.

"You're going to have to help me," Hermione muttered to the sleeping man. "I don't know how this works or what I'm supposed to do."

She reached her hand out and grasped one of his, and he woke with a sharp inhale. His bright blue eyes finding hers immediately.

"Granger?" his voice was hoarse.

"Hey, Lestrange," Hermione smiled at him and was surprised when he squeezed her hand. "You gave me a scare."

"It's the life debts. You didn't…" he broke off and coughed. Hermione helped him sit up and poured him a glass of water. When he was settled again, he went on, "you didn't move into Lestrange Park. The life debt didn't wholly absolve."

Hermione sighed, she was afraid of that, "I'll move in immediately then."

"Could just let me die," Lestrange muttered, closing his eyes.

Hermione frowned, "Why do you want to die?"

"Don't," Lestrange said. "But don't want you to hate me either."

Hermione sighed. "I don't hate you, Lestrange. I want to know more about you, and why your Dark Mark never stuck, but I don't hate you. And, I can't let you die. I don't know how much you know about me, but I would  _never_  let anyone die if it was in my power to stop it."

Lestrange seemed to breathe easier then. "When will I need to be out?"

"Out of St Mungo's? I'd say as soon as the life debt absolves. I can have my things moved immediately."

Shaking his head, Lestrange said, "No, out of Lestrange Park."

"I'm not kicking you out of your home!"

"You accepted it. It's no longer mine."

Hermione pursed her lips, "Then would you like to live with me?"

Lestrange nodded, a sigh forming on his lips before his eyes slipped closed once more and he fell asleep. Hermione sat for a moment longer, still holding his hand as she thought over their conversation. It seemed in order for the life debts to properly be absolved, she had to accept his compensation with open arms. She was going to need that house elf after all.

* * *

Two days later, Hermione had moved into Lestrange Park. Lestrange was still at St Mungo's, still too weak to be moved. She hoped with all the work she, and Tilly, the house elf she hired to care for Lestrange Park, did over the last few days would be enough to get Lestrange out of the hospital.

She stalked the halls of St Mungo's the way she stalked the halls of the Ministry. Even here people scurried out of her way, and it made her want to smirk. She kept her face straight though; it wouldn't do to go scaring everyone. Stopping in front of Lestrange's door she took a deep breath. The man inside unsettled her, and soon she would be living with him. She wondered if this would allow her to know him enough to feel comfortable with him? On her way to his room, she'd stopped to see a mind-healer she had worked with before, Healer Fawley. Fawley planned to stop by Lestrange Park the following day to have a conversation with Lestrange and see what sorts of permanent mental damage he had.

Hermione wasn't interested in his diagnosis, not really, she just wanted to ensure that the man she was going to be living with and procreating with wouldn't attempt to kill her in her sleep because he had some delusions or something.

Opening the door, she was surprised to see Lestrange sitting up in bed, fully dressed.

"Granger," he nodded to her. "They are letting me out today."

Hermione smiled at him brilliantly, "Good. Are you ready?"

Lestrange nodded, seeming nonplussed that she was going to be with him for his discharge. A quick discussion with the dark-blond Healer that Hermione had never caught the name of and a side-along Apparition and she and Lestrange were home.

Despite having spent the previous two nights in the large house, Hermione did feel a little like it was home. She was never at her flat long enough to decorate it much, and with Tilly's help, she had fully unpacked in just a few short days.

Entering the home, they were immediately greeted by Tilly, "Master! Mistress! Welcome home!"

"Oh, Tilly, we aren't— that is… oh bugger," Hermione had no idea how to explain this to the little elf.

"Let her think what she thinks," Lestrange whispered into Hermione's ear. Hermione felt a shiver go down her spine at his words. She nodded though and allowed Tilly to guide them into the sitting room for tea.


	7. Fallen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Thanks to AlexandraO for lending her beta services! Drop me a line and let me know your thoughts. Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff!**

Rabastan had never liked living alone. He glanced around the empty dining room, seeing Granger's empty spot for the fifteenth time since they had returned from St Mungo's a few weeks ago. Granger never ate with him. Granger was barely around at all, in fact, and it was beginning to drive Rabastan a little crazy.

She still slept here, of course, called Lestrange Park her primary residence, but she didn't seem to spend any time here, beyond sleeping. He'd know if she moved out, or wasn't sleeping here. It would put him back in that weird lethargic state that made him want to stop breathing. He was thankful that she had saved him yet again but didn't know how to go about showing that thanks when she was never around. He finished his meal quickly and decided to wait for her outside of her room. She had to come home and go to bed eventually.

Later that night, he sat in an armchair in the hallway outside her room. He was reading a book when he heard a tell-tale creak on the stairs. She must have apparated and come in through the front door, otherwise, Rabastan was sure he would have heard the buzz of the Floo.

"Lestrange?" Granger asked as she climbed the last few stairs to the first floor. She had taken the first room on the left side of the hallway.

"Hello," Rabastan nodded to her politely, closing his book.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him.

"Waiting for you," Rabastan replied as if it were obvious.

"Right, but why?"

Rabastan sighed, "Look, I know you are stuck with me, but I—" he cut himself off. How was he to admit that he was dependent on her? She was a virtual stranger, and clearly wanted nothing to do with him. He should just leave her alone, but he knew if he did that, he'd end up at St Mungo's again. Without the will to live.

Granger frowned at him and Rabastan stood, "Nevermind," he muttered and walked down the hallway toward his own room. Why force himself on her? It was so obvious she was uncomfortable with this whole situation. For the thousandth time, Rabastan wished she would have just let him die. It would have been easier for both of them.

* * *

Rabastan decided that instead of trying to get Granger to talk to him, he would concentrate instead on figuring out a way to repay the life debt without having to either marry her or provide her with heirs. He was sure that those were the bits she was baulking at the most, and if he could find a way around them, then she would be easier to be around.

Actually, if he could find a way around them, then he could move out of Lestrange Park. They wouldn't have any excuse to be near each other. He was sure that was what she would want. But he felt strangely sad at the notion. Rabastan shook his head; it was just the weight of the debts talking. It's not like he was  _attached_  to Granger at all. Even if he rather liked the way her shoes clicked on the floors of the house as she moved through it. Or the way he knew she'd just been in a room because her perfume lingered in the air. Oh, dear Merlin above, he had it bad.

He knew he was in trouble when he entered his paint studio for the first time in over two decades with an itch in his hands he hadn't since his first stint in Azkaban. The studio was in the south attic, and Rabastan had retrofitted the house to have skylights over this portion to give him the best light he could. It used to be his haven, during school breaks, he'd hide up here from his father and brother and paint to his heart's content. He didn't think he was particularly good at painting, but he enjoyed it. He enjoyed creating something with his hands and doing something that felt right and good and even joyous at times. He painted everyone in his family, mostly in what he considered artless poses. And it was all from memory.

He shut off his higher intelligence when he was in the studio and just allowed himself to feel. That's how his best work came about when he locked the inner critic up and just did what felt right. He was shocked to see that his paints had been restored at some point. And there were even some blank canvases stacked against one wall.

"Tilly?" Rabastan called.

"Yes, Master?" Tilly answered the call with a very pleased smile on her face.

"Did you do this?" Rabastan gestured to his studio. It was clean and fresh and didn't look as though it had been neglected for twenty-two years.

"I did, Master! Is that alright? It looked so well-loved, I felt for sure that you would want to be coming back here." Tilly looked nervous.

"No, it's great. Thank you, Tilly," Rabastan said sincerely. He had fully expected to come up here and work for hours on getting his studio back into shape and was pleased he could just come and paint.

"You're welcome, Master Rabastan!" Tilly beamed at him before Apparating away.

Rabastan smiled at the little elf, he hadn't spoken much to the house-elves when he was a child growing up in the house, but he was pleased with Granger's finding of Tilly. She was a good elf and worked hard. Anticipating needs he hadn't even realised he had.

Breathing easily for the first time in a long time, Rabastan got to work, setting up a canvas and mixing paints.

When the day was over, and he allowed his brain to come out of the meditative place that was conducive to painting, he was dismayed. He'd painted Granger. The way her hair looked in the morning light. He'd painted Granger lounging in a bed, the sheet artfully arranged over a body he had yet to see, but didn't stop him from admiring. He had painted Granger lounging in  _his_  bed. Oh, he was thoroughly fucked. If he was painting Granger like this, then the barrier separating his feelings from the feelings caused by the weight of the life debts was already deteriorating.

* * *

Almost six weeks after Granger had moved in, Rabastan had had enough. She was never around, and he could feel the weight of the debts, they were increasing. He would need to have another one absolved and soon if he wanted to live. And while most of the time he did want to live, he knew that he would have to find Granger and say something to her about it. If he didn't, another episode would play out like it had a few weeks ago and Granger would have no choice again. That's what he hated himself for the most, that she wasn't given any choice in the matter. Oh, sure, she could let him die, but Rabastan had been doing some research on Hermione Granger. This was a woman who insisted on  _paying_  house elves. She had worked her whole career for the underdog, and Rabastan knew she wasn't the type to let someone die. Not only had she said it to him once before, but everything he learned about her, screamed it to him.

She had taken him on out of pity, and that was probably worst reason Rabastan could imagine for starting any sort of relationship with someone. And he'd tried to find another way around it, but life debts were old pure-blood magic. He hated himself for having recognised them to begin with. If he hadn't, neither of them would be in this situation. He'd be miserable in Azkaban, but was that any worse than being miserable in his own home? Probably not.

Sweet Salazar, what had he done to deserve this torture? The life debts would soften his feelings and push him to love her, and she would never reciprocate. How could she? Rabastan was sure he wouldn't in her shoes.

So here he was, sitting in an armchair in front of her room once more, waiting for her to return home. They needed to speak about what the plan was. Regardless, of what came of it, Rabastan had to know. The last week or so had felt like he'd been living on tenterhooks. Waiting to find out if he lived or died. Oh, he knew he would live, she wouldn't let him die. He didn't think, but at the same time, that sinking feeling of wearing too many clothes in an ocean full of waves was getting stronger and stronger.

"Lestrange?" Hermione asked. That was another thing; he was done being strangers with this woman. Either she was his killer, or she would be the mother of his children. Either way, he'd call her by her first name.

"Hermione," Rabastan greeted. He was pleased to hear her sharp inhalation. He hoped that meant that he was on the right track.

"What are you doing?" she asked warily as she came to stand in front of him.

Rabastan stayed seated, he didn't want to scare her off and thought his height might intimidate her. She tapped her foot lightly as she waited for him to respond. Or maybe not.

"Waiting for you," Rabastan replied.

Hermione frowned, folding her arms over her chest.

"We need to absolve another life debt soon," Rabastan said quietly.

Huffing out a breath, Hermione conjured her own armchair and sat down across from him. When she crossed her legs, Rabastan caught a glimpse of thigh and felt a tightening in his groin. He tamped down any such feeling, knowing that they were not only counter-productive to the conversation at hand, but also a side-effect of the life debts.

"Fine," Hermione nodded. "Tell me how we should absolve the next life debt you owe me, Lestrange."

"Rabastan, please," Rabastan muttered, strangely embarrassed as he felt his face redden.

Hermione nodded, "Fine, Rabastan. Tell me how we should absolve the next life debt?"

Rabastan shook his head and looked down at his clasped hands. He didn't know what to say. It all felt so slimy and coercive.

"Right, well, since the only way to absolve life debts is through marriage. Shall I hire an officiant?" Hermione snarked.

Rabastan sighed, "Technically, I could purchase additional properties to give to you."

"And what would happen if we didn't live in those properties together?"

Rabastan's lips thinned, she wasn't wrong. Life debts were old pure-blood magic that was generally only absolved by binding the debtor to the debtee. He could give her the world, and unless he truly felt like the life debt had been absolved, they would still linger. He didn't know what else to say as an overwhelming wave of guilt crashed over him. He'd ruined her life and wished he had kept his mouth shut and just died in Azkaban.


	8. Trapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Thanks to AlexandraO for lending her beta services! Drop me a line and let me know your thoughts. Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff!**

Hermione pursed her lips and sighed heavily, looking away from Rabastan. How ridiculous that they were having this conversation in the corridor. Although she knew it was her fault, she'd been avoiding him. Avoiding the reality of her situation. She was going to have to at least procreate with him, if not marry him. And in her heart of hearts, she knew she would have to marry him. She wouldn't bring more children into this world than she absolutely had to in order to get rid of these life debts. How fucking absurd was this magic?

"Right, so, as we've established, we'll have to have some sort of arrangement in order to absolve the additional life debts. So you can either give me three heirs," Hermione scoffed, "Or you can marry me and give me two heirs. The wizarding world is so patriarchal it's fucking ridiculous."

"I'm not opposed," Rabastan said with a shrug.

He said it so casually that Hermione froze. She had thought for sure that he would have objections to it too. Unless… she narrowed her eyes at him. Could this have been a ploy all along? Some Slytherin plot to ensnare her in a marriage with him? He'd seemed so genuine and downtrodden that Hermione didn't think so, but what other reason would he have for wanting to marry her?

"What?" Hermione asked. "Why would you want to marry me? I'm a Muggleborn." Hermione felt stuck with indecision, on the one hand, she couldn't leave him to die, not knowingly consign him to death. But on the other, she felt like she had been out-manoeuvred and out-played and she wasn't comfortable with that either.

"If you'd have me, I'd marry you. I'd give you heirs and be the best husband I could be," Rabastan admitted. And when had he changed to Rabastan in her head? When he'd called her Hermione earlier? She didn't know, but it felt strange to think about him as Lestrange anymore.

"I've not had a lot of relationships," Rabastan continued, "being in Azkaban for more years than not. I'm shy of the public, and really all I want is to live in my home, maybe paint some. But I would do anything to get rid of the weight of the life debts from my soul. If it means marrying you, having children with you. I'd gladly do it."

Hermione frowned at him. "It started out sweet, and then you make me sound like a burden."

"Oh, Merlin no!" Rabastan said, and caught her eyes. His bright blue eyes were imploring her to understand something, but what she wasn't sure. " _I'm_  the burden," Rabastan insisted. "And I would do anything to relieve the burden I've placed on you. It's why I'll happily consent to a marriage so you don't have to carry so many heirs." Rabastan reddened at the talk of carrying heirs, and Hermione felt her own face flush. That was the rub, wasn't it? It wasn't as if Rabastan had to go through pregnancy and childbirth in order to give Hermione heirs.

"I'll think about it," Hermione edged. She really will have to ponder it. It seemed like a simple decision, either let Rabastan die, or marry him and bear heirs. But at the same time, Hermione wasn't ready for children. How long would the life debts wait before wearing down on Rabastan? Could she consign him to a life of pain, just because she wasn't ready for children? And then there was a part of her that baulked that she had sacrificed plenty in her life, did she also need to sacrifice her own children? It was confusing, and while Hermione knew what the right decision was, she felt paralysed to make it.

"Why is this life debt thing a problem for just you and I? Shouldn't there be loads of other wizards in similar situations? Especially, with the recent wars?"

Rabastan shrugged, "I think it's because I'm aware of them. Not all pure-bloods are, but my family made me study the old ways, like seeing and establishing life debts when they are applicable. The problem is that they are supposed to go the other way. I should have been the one saving lives, in order to get people indebted to me. That's what the magic was originally created for. But once my life had been saved, and I recognised that, and by whom, that's when the magic kicks in and takes over."

"But Harry, Ron, and I know about life debts. Snape owed one to James Potter. Should I feel indebted to Harry and Ron for all the times they've saved my life?" Hermione had searched her soul and felt no unnatural weight on it due to an unfulfilled life debt.

"Perhaps, but I suspect that life debts can be exchanged reciprocally and wash each other out. If they saved your life, you have probably saved theirs. And it all washes out in the end. There's also something to be said for having an equal relationship with the person you may have reciprocal life debts with," Rabastan explained.

"And we do not have an equal relationship?" Hermione asked tightly. She didn't think he was subtly calling her a mudblood, he'd yet to show her any true blood-prejudice, but still, her hackles rose at the thought of not being his equal. Or rather, at the thought that  _he_  didn't think she was his equal. She'd worked so damned hard to get where she was in this backward, patriarchal society and to have someone she was going to be bound to for the rest of her life not view her as an equal was almost untenable.

"You're joking, right?" Rabastan asked, and Hermione felt herself bristle. "I'm a Death Eater! Scum of the earth. I've lived more years in Azkaban than out of it. And worst of all, my entire family has attempted to murder you on one occasion or the other. You were tortured by my sister-in-law." He ran a hand through his hair in obvious frustration and yet, Hermione could still not figure out where he was going with this.

"You're Hermione Granger. One-third of the Golden Trio. Muggleborn extraordinaire. Highest NEWT scores in a century. You're fucking amazing, how could I ever even hope to hold your attention? Or discuss anything you'd be interested in? I didn't even take my NEWTs, did you know? I was imprisoned before completing my seventh year. I…" Rabastan trailed off looking guilty and upset.

Hermione felt blown away by his admission. He was intimidated by  _her_? Not that that wasn't the image she was trying to project, because it certainly was. She just didn't think anyone fell for it. Especially, not someone like him. Pure-blood, Sacred Twenty-Eight, would be Death Eater. Then the rest of his statement kicked in. He'd never taken his NEWTs? And had been imprisoned prior to finishing his final year at Hogwarts? It was unconscionable what the wizarding world deemed a fair punishment when they were too frightened to say one wizards name.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Hermione asked, "What now?"

"I'd still marry you," Rabastan admitted, not meeting her gaze.

"Can I think about it?" Hermione asked. She really did not want to make him wait too long if he was in pain.

Rabastan nodded though, "I think I have a few weeks before the pain becomes intolerable."

"What about the heirs though?" Hermione asked. "It takes a while to get pregnant sometimes, and then the baby gestates for nine months. This has all happened so fast."

"I suspect that as long as the magic dictating the life debts see's us 'working' on them, then it won't flare up." He shrugged though as if he wasn't sure.

"I fucking hope so," Hermione muttered. What would they do if she was pregnant with an heir and his last life debt decided it needed to be absolved?

Rabastan tightened his lips and looked away.

"Let's stop having these conversations in the hallway, yeah?" Hermione suggested as she stood from her armchair.

"Stop avoiding me then," Rabastan murmured, and he too stood.

Hermione faced him and didn't realise quite how tall he was, even with her heels on.

"Right, well, let me think about it for a bit," Hermione said again.

Rabastan nodded and turned to go, but before he did, Hermione grasped his wrist, stopping him. She placed her hand on his shoulder when he turned back around and leaned up to kiss his cheek. Then turned and went into her bedroom, leaving a shocked Rabastan standing in the hallway.


	9. Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: This is it! Last chapter! Hope you all enjoyed taking this ride with me! Thanks to AlexandraO for lending her beta services! Drop me a line and let me know your thoughts. Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff!**

After Hermione disappeared into her room, Rabastan sighed. She'd surprised him with the soft kiss on his cheek and he felt better than he had in a long time. She was going to accept his marriage proposal and absolve another of the life debts. Rabastan felt like he knew that in his soul, even if Hermione hadn't accepted that yet.

He smiled happily and went to his studio to paint. His mood was far too euphoric to try and get some sleep that night. He spent the night painting another portrait of Hermione, this time, as she stalked down the corridors of the Ministry, her robes billowing behind her, matching her larger-than-life personality. He smiled as dawn broke over the studio and flooded it with light. Now he felt like he was tired enough to sleep.

After their corridor discussion, Hermione stopped avoiding him. She was home in time to have dinner with him most nights, and they spoke to each other. About their interests, Hermione seemed fascinated with the idea that he painted.

"Paint? Like pictures and portraits?" she'd asked at dinner the night before.

Rabastan nodded and took a swallow of wine. It was strange to be discussing his art with someone. As a child, it had been a secret from his brother and father. Then with all the time he'd spent in Azkaban, he'd almost thought he'd forgotten how.

"Are you any good?" Hermione asked, breaking his reverie.

Rabastan almost choked on his wine. "Er, well most artists will tell you that they are shit, whether they are or not," he shrugged. "It's hard for me to judge, you know? But that's not why I do it. I like the feel of the brush in my hands. The smell of the paint. It's like a form of meditation…" He trailed off, having closed his eyes and was now too embarrassed to open them.

"Sorry," Hermione replied. "I didn't mean to pry. I just didn't take you for the artistic sort."

"What sort did you take me for?" Rabastan couldn't stop himself from asking.

Hermione shrugged, she looked mildly embarrassed. "I guess I never really thought about it."

That stung. Rabastan smiled at her softly, but inside, ouch. She hadn't thought of him enough to think about what his interests might be when he couldn't get her off his mind. He swallowed more wine. This was going to be his life. He was  _always_  going to be more invested in their relationship than she was. It was the price he was paying for living he realised.

Dinner had ended somewhat awkwardly that night. At least for Rabastan and he hadn't seen her since. It was dinner time again, and he was eating alone. Rabastan felt rather glum about it all and hoped that this wasn't going to start another period of weeks where she avoided him. It felt ridiculous to him to admit to, but he was pretty sure that he could fall in love with her if he weren't careful. Even if he was careful, he knew that it would be all too easy to play the puppy to her master. And maybe that was a life Rabastan could live. It's not like he's had much experience, but it was frightening to be that dependent on someone else. Especially, if they weren't as dependent on him. And Hermione Granger was the most independent witch Rabastan had ever met.

* * *

Two days later, Hermione came home from work early. It was the first time she'd ever come home early, and Rabastan had still been in his studio when Tilly had popped in to let him know he was needed in the parlour.

"Hermione's home?" Rabastan asked as he dropped his paintbrush into a cup of water.

Tilly nodded, "And she's brought a guest. I must make tea now," she bowed and popped away.

A guest? Rabastan frowned. This didn't feel like it could be anything good. He threaded his hands through his hair and wished he'd been prepared. As it was now, he was spotted with paint. Should he change first? Tilly had made it seem rather urgent. Rabastan decided whatever it was, could stand him being covered in paint.

The walk from the attic to the front parlour seemed interminable, despite the fact that Lestrange Park wasn't all  _that_  big. Not nearly as large as Malfoy Manor.

Finally, he made it to the parlour, the door was open, and he spotted Hermione inside seated across from a tidy man that Rabastan didn't recognise.

"Rabastan," Hermione grinned broadly at him, "there you are."

"Hermione," Rabastan nodded at her as he entered the room, still confused by what was going on. His heart hammered in his chest.

"This is Otto Harper," Hermione said. She was still grinning widely, wracking Rabastan's nerves. "He's a Ministry official."

"Hello," Rabastan greeted the tidy, short man who stood from the couch and gave Rabastan a small bow.

"Shall we get started?" Harper asked.

"I'm sorry, started with what?" Rabastan asked.

"He's here to marry us, Rabastan."

Rabastan sucked in a breath and swivelled his gaze to Hermione. She still looked happy, in fact, she seemed even more pleased that she had surprised him.

"Are you sure?" Rabastan asked her. He desperately wanted to touch her, to make sure that this wasn't a dream.

Hermione's smile softened, and she walked the few steps toward him, placing a hand on his arm. "I'm sure," she said.

"It's a blood bond. There's no divo—"

"I'm sure, Rabastan. Unless you are having second thoughts?" She looked uncertain then, and Rabastan felt a moment of panic. He never wanted to put that look on her face again.

"No!" he half-shouted. "Of course I want to marry you." He felt like a lunatic, but at the same time, had to make sure she knew what his feelings were.

She smiled then, "Alright. Let's do it."

"Excellent!" Harper enthused and directed them to stand in front of him, clasping each other's hands. Rabastan quickly found himself lost in Hermione's eyes and repeating whatever it was Harper wanted him to repeat. He could have been binding himself to a fish for all Rabastan was paying attention.

"So mote it be!" Harper announced. "You may kiss your bride."

That broke Rabastan out of his daze. Hermione was looking at him rather shyly, and Rabastan leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on her mouth.

"Well done!" Harper enthused. "Now, I'll be off. Remember, to consummate the bond, or it won't seal!"

Rabastan's eyes didn't leave Hermione's as Harper bustled out of the room and out of the house. He felt like he couldn't breathe. Or he didn't want to breathe for fear of ruining whatever moment they were having.

"Ready?" Rabastan asked her once she seemed to come back to herself and breathe again.

Hermione nodded, and Rabastan grinned at her. He swept her up into his arms and carried her up the stairs to his room. Hermione threw her head back and laughed when he carried her over the threshold of his room and placed her softly on the bed.

"Are you sure about this?" Rabastan asked again. He fervently hoped she wasn't going to back out but was enough of a gentleman to allow her to do so if necessary.

Hermione frowned, then reached up and pulled Rabastan on top of her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him full on the mouth. Rabastan groaned into the kiss, desperate to touch her, but holding himself above her.

"Please, Rabastan," Hermione whined, pulling away from the kiss, and pulling on his shoulders. How could he say no to such a pretty plea? He found he couldn't, and soon they were undressing each other and themselves. Hermione tried to climb on top, but Rabastan stopped her. Seeing her laid out in his bed in real life, not a painting was a fantasy come true, even if it was a fantasy he'd been trying to suppress, and he wanted to enjoy it.

He pressed his lips to her mouth once more then began kissing and licking every inch of skin he could find until he was at those glorious breasts. Hermione squirmed under his tongue, and Rabastan was sure he couldn't get any harder.

"Rabastan," she moaned as he curled his tongue around one nipple.

Her hands were holding his head to her chest, and Rabastan loved the feel of it. He continued his slow torture, kissing his way down her abdomen, a nip on her hip bone, a swirl of his tongue in her bellybutton. She was moaning rather loudly now, and Rabastan fought to keep the grin off his face. It was a hard battle, but he won out eventually.

He passed right over her core and knelt between her legs, running his hands down them to her feet. He gave each foot a small rub, and Hermione fisted her hands in the blankets when she couldn't reach him anymore.

"Rabastan, please," Hermione begged when he began slowly kissing up from one ankle along the length of her leg.

"Soon, love," Rabastan said as he set that leg down and gave the other the same treatment.

Hermione was writhing by the time he finally reached her core. One finger sliding through her folds told Rabastan just how ready she was for him. He reached his tongue out and groaned at the taste of her. Like honeyed wine. He dipped his tongue into her entrance, then swirled it around her clit. Hermione delved one hand into Rabastan's hair once more and ground her hips against his face. He placed one hand on her belly, to hold her down as he slid a finger inside her entrance. Merlin, she was tight, her inner muscles clenching around his finger.

Rabastan's own arousal had wound so tight, he found himself grinding into the bed below his hips, trying to find some friction. He needed to make her come first though. He hadn't had sex since before his first stint in Azkaban. Rabastan knew there was no way he would be able to make it last for her with such a long hiatus. So he had to make it good for her first. He hummed, and when she thrashed harder, he smirked and began humming in rhythm to his finger that was slowly pumping in and out of her tight channel. He added a second finger and made a come hither motion as he sucked on her clit, and was rewarded when she fell apart around him.

"Oh, Merlin, fuck. Rabastan!" Hermione sobbed as her climax crested. Rabastan was sure he could have come just from her calling his name and was supremely grateful that he hadn't. He allowed her a moment of respite before kneeling between her legs and swiftly entering her still pulsing sheath.

"Oh, fuck," Rabastan muttered. His skin tingled, and Hermione wrapped her hands around his shoulders, pulling him to her. He half collapsed on top of her and slowly slid out and back in. She felt so amazing wrapped around him. She'd lifted each of her legs and wrapped them around his waist. Fuck, Rabastan did not deserve this to be the rest of his life. But he was going to be thankful for it every fucking day.

"Rabastan," Hermione whined into his ear, and it was his undoing. He increased his pace until he was pounding into her. The climax that followed was the best one he'd ever had. He dropped his head to her shoulder, planting small kisses along the skin he found there while his heart rate slowed.

"That was—"

"I'll do better next time," Rabastan cut her off and swiftly kissed her lips. "I'll do whatever I need—"

Hermione cut him off with a second kiss, then said against his lips, "I was going to say that was bloody brilliant."

Rabastan couldn't stop the grin that time from creeping onto his face. Hermione grinned back. For the first time in years, Rabastan felt light and free, and he vowed he would do anything and everything in his power to make this woman happy for the life she'd given back to him.


End file.
